


Soldier, Poet, King

by orphan_account



Series: Marvel Songfics [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, F/M, Hurt Tony Stark, Old Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Songfic, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They say in olden times, there was a Soldier, a Poet, and King. It was a tale of many laughs, many tears, and a lot of blood. It is a tale of happiness and hardship. The Soldier was a shaken man. The Poet was out of his time. And the King, well, everyone knew the hardships of a king.





	Soldier, Poet, King

_There will come a soldier_  
_Who carries a mighty sword_

 

The Soldier hurried through the city streets of ol' Brooklyn, desperate to reach his friend from yet another bout with yet another tyrant. This happened all the time with the Soldier. So often, in fact, that he could practically sense when the poor kid was getting beaten. It was an art, really.

 

Once reaching the dank alleyway, he sighed at the grunts and groans of the one and only Poet. The Poet, currently spitting blood from between his teeth, looked just about ready to pass out right there. Unfortunately, the man who had been pummeling him had barely broken a sweat.

 

"Are you ever gonna give up, kid?" Honestly, the Soldier asked himself that all the time.

 

"I can do this all day." The Poet whispered, like a mantra. Seeing quite enough of his bloodied friend, the Soldier landed a swift blow to the spine, drawing a gasp from the ruffian. A sharp chop of the hand to the neck had the man down in no time. The Poet snickered, spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva into the man's hair.

 

They vanished into the streets, the Soldier babbling on about the latest discoveries in science while the Poet listened with curiosity.

 

_He will tear your city down, o lei o lai o lord_  
_O lei, o lai, o lei, o lord_

 

They strapped him to the table, gun long since lost in the uproar. It seemed like hours since they assessed him, the cold against his back had him feeling numb. The Soldier knew he and the others weren't getting out of there alright. After all, it'd take a miracle to bypass the guards, release the other men, and find whatever totally not ominous lab he was stuck in.

 

He wasn't going to lie, all the technology around him was enthralling. However, this was not the time to geek out. The Soldier was currently a prisoner of war, and unless he thought of something, he wasn't going anywhere.

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

As he'd said, it'd take a miracle to get everyone out of there alive. They'd succeeded in bringing out a whole lot of them, yet several died in the battle. Of course, this all just so happened to get done by the Poet. The miniature, frail, often bedridden Poet who had nothing better to do that start fights with men much larger than him.

Now, the Soldier was pretty sure any man who wanted a rematch wasn't compelled to come back. 

 

"I thought you were smaller."

 

_He will tear your city down, o lei o lai o lord_

 

The Soldier stood in front of the King, gun pointed at the wretch behind the glass. The King looked at him with distraught, then back at the Poet. It had been a long time since he fought that hard without his coding trickling back into his brain. Though, that was nothing to boast about. The terror on the King's face was something he'd never want to see again. Even if it meant staying away from the Poet. Right now, he couldn't handle either of them.

 

A kind man, also a king, though more reliable in the name, took him in. They put him under for a while before allowing him to retire to the fields. He spent most of his days aiding the younger children with the plants, and the older children with the animals. The goats, in particular, were his favorite. Small, noisy, and equipped to knock you down on your back at whatever chance they may get. It reminded him of someone he used to know.

 

_There will come a poet_  
_Whose weapon is his word_

 

The Poet was eighteen when his mother died. She worked in the tuberculosis ward at the hospital and caught the disease. He could only watch as his uncles and a few old friends laid her in the ground with his father. They must be happy together, up in heaven. They were good people, heaven was the only thing awaiting them after death.

But, he didn't want them dead. He wanted to be with them when he got married, had a kid, retired. The Poet wanted his parents to stay by his side forever. Such childish dreams the Poet had. Everyone deemed him a child, but were they wrong? He started fights he knew he could not win, his height did him no favors, and his daydreaming mixed too much with real life. His insight was doubtful and he fainted at the sight of blood. The world was something he wanted to conquer. Sadly, the world was a war he could not win.

The war was something he did.

 

It amazed him at how much everything changed. The Poet joined the army and became a soldier, something a kind heart like he shouldn't have sought to be. And yet, he became a soldier and the test subject for Project: REBIRTH. The Poet had gone from his arts, to the field, to the stage. He lost count of how many times he'd 'punched' Hitler. Now, there were giant televisions and screens that had colored tapes. Colored! 

  
...

 

...

 

...

 

Except, he didn't die. He'd been stuck in ice for decades before resurfacing. SHIELD had found him and taken him in. Though, their methods of rescue weren't exactly all that comforting. What would he expect from an organization built on spies and secrets anyway? When he'd heard Peggy and Howard had started it, he'd wanted to know how they were. Peggy was still alive, but Howard... Howard had been gone for a few years, and so had his wife. Left behind a son. Left behind a king. Anthony Edward Stark, how formal. Child genius, prodigy, billionaire, everything he'd expected from a child of Howard, a Stark.

 

His immediate reaction was to visit Peggy. She'd definitely aged, her gray hair and wrinkles showed for it. However, she still had that determined glint in her eye that only a woman of her stature could claim as her own. They spoke for hours, of nothing and everything all at once. And then they remained silent. Not for long, The Poet was soon ushered back to SHIELD and their goodbye was made with a tight hug and a smile.

 

_He will slay you with his tongue, o lei o lai o lord_

 

They were supposed to check in, and now that he saw the youngest of Avengers beaten and bloody, he wished he'd never let them leave in the first place. He'd already lost the few Avengers who sided with the King,  he didn't need to lose any more soldiers. Speaking of him, once the King was counted as missing, everything went into lockdown. The Poet made sure to contact the king of Wakanda and the King's friend James Rhodes. They were going to meet up with him after he received a call from the King's phone.

Bruce was back, unable to form the Hulk. He was desperate to speak to the Poet about a man named Thanos. Thanos, the Mad Titan, planet killer, sole holder of two infinity stones. He was already the strongest being in the universe. And with everything happening, he couldn't stand to think of the terrible things such a disturbing person had in mind when he got all six.

 

He couldn't really stand to think at all. The Soldier was under, The King was gone, and the Poet was missing the way things used to be.

 

_There will come a ruler_  
_Whose brow is laid in thorn_

 

His father was never really a fantastic person, whether the man was drunk or sober. Always on the search for the Poet, he hadn't even paid attention to his doting wife and son. The wife who cried for him to stay, to not take another drink, to care for his son, to get away from the lab. The son who wanted nothing more than to live a happy life with his mother and father, to make his father proud, to make his momma happy, to make Jarvis and Ana happy, to make Aunt Peggy happy, to help his dad find Captain America.

The Prince retired Howard's title of father after he decided to have an affair with another woman when he was thirteen.

 

He started going by Tony after his father sent him to M.I.T. He always hated the name, Anthony Edward. It was the one thing he hated that his mother gave him. His father would always call him by his first and middle name when he was mad. The notion of calling for him in such a way brought back bad memories.

 

The Prince was of official drinking age in America when his parents died. That's not to say he hadn't gotten drunk off his ass beforehand, he was just legally allowed to do it now. He was in a drunken stupor when they came to him, the cops. The Prince remembered his initial reaction, he laughed, invited them inside for a drink, thought they were joking.

 

He only knew they were serious when he stood at his mother's grave for the funeral.

That was when a Prince became a King.

 

_Smeared with oil like David's boy, o lei o lai o lord_  
_O lei, o lai, o lei, o lord_

 

Dust laid in his wake. The King wasn't sure if the dirt on his feet was really dirt or the remnants of a boy who died too young. None of this was fair, he was never meant to die. If anything, the King should have laid down to rest, scattering across the dirt under the bright orange sky. That's all he could look at now. He wouldn't dare look down at his hands. Not when they were covered in hundreds of gray specs.

 

How was he going to tell May? Did Peter have lots of friends at school? What was he going to tell them? How was he going to tell the world that Strange sacrificed half the population for him?

 

This didn't make sense, and none of it was fair.

 

The King learned what it was like to truly miss someone.

 

_Smeared with oil like David's boy, o lei o lai o lord_  
_O lei, o lai, o lei, o lord_

 

They won, everyone was back, Thanos and his army were gone, and the world would slowly stitch itself back together. He was sure of it. They'd be fine without him. Of course, no empire was known for thriving without a King. But, they'd have new heroes. People who would bring happiness and hope to the people. They would bring happiness and hope to Harley, to Peter, to Pepper, to Rhodey, to Morgan.

 

He knew that at the beginning of this fight, all he'd wanted was to go back to his daughter. He'd even said it himself, if it came down to it, he was going back to her. But, when he'd seen Thanos with that gauntlet in his hands... When Carol shot to action, he snapped. He'd had no other choice.

 

He remembered his last words before the snap.

 

"I... am... Iron Man."

 

_He will tear your city down, o lei o lai_

 

How would the world learn to live without the King? How would the world learn to live without the Poet? A Soldier was nothing without his orders, and there was no fun in his life without the words of the Poet. Now, it was just Sam, the new Captain America, T'challa, Clint, Strange, and all the other people that the Soldier was not all that keen on remembering.

 

He really didn't mind not having the shield. After all this, he'd wanted nothing more than to retire, and rest. Of course, that wouldn't stop him from fighting should the need arise.

 

The King was dead. The Poet was laid to rest. And the Soldier...

 

The Soldier took his time, enjoyed life.

 

He traveled the world, learning new languages and meeting new people. He helped those who couldn't help themselves, with SHIELD funding of course. He got closer to a man named Clint Barton, who, according to the archer, he reminded of Natasha. He knew, of course, whom the man spoke of. The Soldier trained her himself in the Red Room.

She'd grown up, she wasn't that frail anymore.

 

By the time he'd gotten too old to stand on his own two feet, he'd gotten to know Barton and his family. Laura, Lila, Cooper, and Nathaniel. Nathaniel was originally named after Natasha, he'd been told.

 

The children took care of them.

 

Lila became the new Hawkeye.

 

Cooper became an agent of SHIELD.

 

Nathaniel became an engineer that reminded him all too well of the King.

 

Life was good, life was nice.

 

The Soldier was laid to rest with a smile on his feet.

 

He joined both the Poet and the King in the skies, telling tales of their adventures around the fire.

 

Life was good, life was nice.

 

He watched everyone grow up from the heavens.

 

He watched them fight, he watched them win.

 

Life was good, life was nice.


End file.
